


no macrame for me

by cumaeansibyl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Light Bondage, M/M, Rope Bondage, Shibari, Top Crowley (Good Omens), not actually bdsm, they don't really get that far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:22:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22818436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumaeansibyl/pseuds/cumaeansibyl
Summary: In which Crowley attempts to tie Aziraphale up all fancy-like and gets distracted halfway through because he has no chill. Featuring involuntary fangs, gratuitous abuse of massage oil, and Those Thighs.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 203





	no macrame for me

The angel Aziraphale kept several cases of books he would absolutely not sell under any circumstances, as opposed to the ones with which he might grudgingly part, but the locked case in the back room was not entirely off-limits. In this case he kept literature usually described as for “the connoisseur” or “the discerning reader.” This was, of course, strong pornography. 

Aziraphale was not unwilling to sell it for a proper price, but even before his supervisor had brought Heaven’s enforcer into his shop, he had been wont to look askance at most people who requested it. It turned out that, of any ten people who asked for pornography in a rare book shop, only one or two were “discerning connoisseurs,” and the rest were prats who thought it would be funny to make the prim little bookseller squirm.[1]

Of course, there was also Crowley, who fit more or less into both columns.

The demon Crowley had known about Aziraphale’s locked case for almost as long as it had existed, but he’d always affected a jaded contempt for anything an angel might find scandalous. Privately, he was dying to know what sort of erotica Aziraphale found worth preserving, and Aziraphale knew it, but he also knew Crowley would sooner take a swan dive into a baptismal font than admit it.

It turned out that most questions became easier to ask once they’d stopped dancing around the other question, but Crowley still went red as a stoplight when he inquired shortly thereafter, doing his best to project genial apathy, whether the things in the locked case were “as boring as the rest of the shop.”

Aziraphale twinkled at him. “Curious, are we?”

“Thought it might be good for a laugh,” Crowley said, getting not a bit less red.

“Some of it, yes, very much so,” Aziraphale said, relieved that Crowley was taking it in a less personal direction for the moment; he wasn’t at all ready to reveal which ones he actually liked. “Male authors have the most extraordinary notions about women sometimes. It’s remarkable, the ideas that persist against all reason.”

Crowley naturally wanted examples, which led to a riotous evening of Aziraphale reading _Fanny Hill_ aloud and Crowley laughing so hard he slid off the sofa into a heap (leather trousers, very sexy, no traction to speak of) -- but Aziraphale knew that wouldn’t satisfy him forever. It was foolish, he knew, to feel embarrassed over sharing things like this with his own lover -- but then he was derailed mid-thought by the word _lover_ and he never quite got back on track, which was a pity.

When Crowley did ask whether Aziraphale had any particular favorites, it went more smoothly than he’d expected at first. He would pick something relatively mainstream, and they would both try not to look at each other while they examined it, but inevitably they’d get distracted and forget the text entirely. They hardly needed novelty when everything was so new and wonderful, but that didn’t mean Crowley was about to pass up the chance to slither into a cache of forbidden knowledge.

It was with some trepidation that Aziraphale, one evening, let Crowley pick out something to ask about. He’d never quite worked out what he was afraid of -- being laughed at? Possibly, but Crowley did that all the time and it was never _cruel_. Being judged? That was closer to it. He’d spent so long bracing himself to be found wanting that he supposed it had become a habit.

“This looks a bit more modern,” Crowley said, drawing a small dark volume from the shelf, and Aziraphale nearly walked right out the door. “Bondage… punishment?”

“We don’t have to!” Aziraphale squeaked.

Crowley cocked his head, and his eyes did that awful appraising thing that made Aziraphale feel like a rummaged-through junk drawer. “So. This one's not just a curio, is it.”

“… no.” Aziraphale pressed his lips together and took a deep breath through his nose. “That is to say, I don’t really know how I feel about the punishment part. Or any sort of force. Though I do like it when you’re, ah, enthusiastic with me in bed, but to take it any further than that? Oh, I’m just not sure.”

“Yeah, I know how that goes,” Crowley said. “Done plenty of temptations where they didn’t even like it once they got it.”

“I suppose we might… experiment, at some future time,” Aziraphale said, pink as a peony, “but with this I’m really just interested in the patterns. They look lovely, and I think they would feel -- do you know, I’m not sure how they would feel, but I think I’d like to find out.” He tried mightily to hide the little shiver that passed over him as he looked at the page Crowley had open, a woman with her arms bound behind her in a complex webbing. The line drawing was simple, but Aziraphale thought her face looked serene.

“I think I’d like you to find out too,” said Crowley.

\---

“If we were being properly authentic,” Aziraphale noted, letting the red silk rope slip through his fingers, “this would be three-strand jute.” The diagram they’d worked up together lay open in front of him on the bed: a very simple ladder-like binding from knees to waist, just to hold his legs still, then a more complicated network around chest and shoulders, arms held snugly in front of him with close coils.

“If we wanted to be properly authentic, we’d have to be human.” Crowley tapped his hip. “Elbows and knees, please, I need to be able to reach under you.”

Aziraphale relinquished the rope and shifted position as requested, knowing that he shouldn’t feel this silly with his arse up in the air -- again, this was for his _lover_ , not some random lout -- but still not quite used to it. Crowley’s hands touched him in a businesslike fashion at first, securing the rope around his knees with a deft knot. Then his fingertips brushed the tender pad of fat just above and behind Aziraphale’s left knee, lightly enough to tickle, and Aziraphale kicked his feet a little. “Oh! Do be careful, my dear.”

“Who says that was an accident?” Crowley bowed his spine in a way thoroughly inconsistent with human anatomy and laid his mouth on the same spot, sucking ever so lightly, flicking his tongue over the skin. His hands pinned Aziraphale’s ankles to the bed just in time to save his ribs from a good kicking, and he nipped at the back of the angel’s right knee to hear him yelp. “You expect me to do things to your legs without _doing things_ to your legs, really now.”

“I did not expect to be _teased,” Aziraphale_ said, too shaky for the indignant tone he wanted.

Crowley laughed outright. “Oh, come _on_.” He pulled the rope snug. The deep crimson glowed warm, pressing into Aziraphale’s white skin. When he wrapped the rope around and brought it back over a second time, a soft bulge rose up between the strands. 

“Wish you could see this, angel,” Crowley croaked. Another turn, right at the top of the thighs. Aziraphale’s skin was going just a tiny bit pink where the ropes pulled it taut, which also made the lovely texture of his cellulite more obvious. Crowley pressed his fingertips into the delicious little dimples, where they fit as if the angel’s body had been created for his touch. 

Aziraphale wriggled a little. “I’m sure I wouldn’t appreciate it like you do.”

“No.” Crowley took a very deep breath. “I don’t think you could.”

Another turn, directly across Aziraphale’s arse, dividing each buttock into two pillowy mounds. He shivered a little and broke out into goosebumps. Crowley’s hands were shaking so badly it took three tries to secure the knot, and suddenly he groaned in desperation. He flopped forward, pressing his face against the small of Aziraphale’s back and gripping his ass with both hands, squeezing in a vain effort to stop his fingers from trembling.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, a little concerned. “Do tell me what’s the matter, my dear.”

“Sssssssss too much,” Crowley slurred into Aziraphale’s skin. “This’ll take bloody… hoursss… I need you _now_.”

Aziraphale rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm, a bit awkwardly, to look at Crowley. While he’d expected to see the demon excited, this was a near-total loss of composure -- eyes pure yellow, lips trembling, breath coming quick and short between needle-sharp teeth. Half-manifested scales, the same color as his skin but smooth and hard, gleamed along the bones of his face, up his legs to his knees, down his spine to where the skinny muscles of his arse flexed and released as he rubbed mindlessly against the mattress. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured, overcome with fondness.

Crowley fumbled for the bedside table, slithering further onto Aziraphale as he went, and came up with a bottle of massage oil. They had set it aside for aftercare, to soothe and soften the rope marks, but he’d clearly stopped thinking that far ahead. He upended the bottle and the oil glugged out over Aziraphale’s arse and thighs, the sweetness of amber and neroli heavy in the little room. 

“Oh!” Aziraphale said, flinching at the cold splash.

“Sssorry, angel, should’ve heated it,” Crowley said, tossing the bottle aside. He thrust his hand between Aziraphale’s thighs, spreading the oil over silky skin, pressing up with two fingers on the perineum. “You’ll have it warm soon enough, won’t you? God, you’re always so warm, so sssoft...”

“Mmrff,” Aziraphale said into the pillow. Those fingers rubbed firmly against his prostate from the outside, which was never much more than a tease for him, but the kind that drove him to distraction within moments. Sometimes it embarrassed him to be so eager, so easy. He’d been drawn to the theory of shibari long ago by the meticulous art of the bindings; once he’d found out what a spectacle he was apt to make of himself in bed, for all the world as though he were a randy human teenager and not an Angel of the Lord, the practice appealed to him as a way to keep some sort of composure. Something calm, methodical, almost meditative.

Despite his best efforts, though, he made a mortifying sound when Crowley took his hand away. Hardly anything had happened and he already felt his self-control slipping away -- it was unnerving, how strongly it came on, how _much_ he wanted and how little he could resist it.

“Ahh, fuck, angel, need you ssso bad,” Crowley groaned, rubbing his face against the soft downy hair on Aziraphale’s shoulders and his erection against the cleft of Aziraphale’s arse, too far gone to be self-conscious. The ropes already held Aziraphale’s thighs together tightly, and all Crowley had to do was push his cock down with one hand and drive it deep between them, just at the apex where the skin was most delicate and there was an extra cushiony roll on either side. The powerful muscles of Aziraphale’s thighs, heavy and firm, lay beneath a gloriously plush covering of fat that squeezed and stroked the demon’s throbbing prick.

“Ohh,” Aziraphale sighed. “Oh, my dear, that’s so nice.” He made a soft _mmm_ sound as Crowley pulled back, then rolled his hips forward until the head of his cock just nudged the back of Aziraphale's bollocks, setting a slow gliding pace. The velvet-soft skin of Crowley’s cock dragging slick and hot between his tender thighs, the restraining embrace of the ropes (also soft, but with just a hint of bite), the delicious alternating sensations of skin and scales wherever their bodies touched… he could indulge his demon this way, and enjoy it in his own, without any unbecoming neediness.

“Some good to thisss... “ Crowley couldn’t quite get two consecutive esses out at once, and had to pause. “Scout troop business, yeah?” He pressed his forehead to the back of Aziraphale’s neck. “So good like this, angel, wanted this first of anything. Before I understood anything else. Just wanted to get myself all over _theeeessse_.” The last word spiraled into a greedy hiss and Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s thighs from the front, kneading rapturously. Then he slipped his oiled hand further forward, cradling Aziraphale’s balls.

Aziraphale made a high-pitched, helpless noise and buried his face in the pillow, at once overcome by the perfect pressure enclosing that delicate part of him. Crowley’s long, cool fingers slipped and slid over his bollocks, rolling one at a time and then both together, the rhythm steady but the stimulus ever-changing so he couldn’t adjust.

“Wonder if I can get you off like thisss, angel,” Crowley murmured in his ear. “Just my hand right here.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Aziraphale tried to sound disapproving, but it came out breathless and reedy.

“Now that I’m here... don’t wanna leave. Could just stay here, right here. For hoursss.” He nuzzled at the juncture of neck and shoulder, then bit down. Aziraphale yelped as Crowley’s needle teeth broke the skin, sending a spike of heat straight to where Crowley’s hand grasped him so possessively. Warmth spread from the bite, soothing the worst of the pain, leaving only a piercing pleasure as Crowley latched on.

Crowley rocked into the plush heat of Aziraphale’s thighs, his previous desperate need eclipsed by blissful self-indulgence as he settled into the place he’d claimed. Aziraphale could only quiver and make small needy sounds as Crowley held him still with his hand and mouth more surely than with his ropes. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to come this way, but as Crowley’s wicked fingers went on massaging him the pleasure seemed to spiral in on itself, building and building without actually _going anywhere_. He felt at once hyperaware of every second that passed and every place their bodies touched, and cast adrift in a bewildering haze of arousal with no beginning or end.

Finally -- and it might have been hours, for all either of them knew -- the languorous roll of Crowley’s hips began to speed up, and his breath quickened against Aziraphale’s aching neck. Aziraphale moaned, low and agonized; Crowley’s cock thrusting hard and fast between his thighs maddened him almost as much as Crowley’s fingers rubbing soft and slick over his balls, with climax still nowhere in sight. “Please,” he managed at last, further words eluding him.

Crowley shivered all over, and his hand slid up to wrap around Aziraphale’s aching cock, jerking him in short tight strokes. All the tension coiling deep in Aziraphale’s belly mounted suddenly up and up, faster than he would have thought possible, until he gave an anguished cry and went rigid, coming so hard it almost hurt. His thighs clenched together around Crowley’s cock and the demon hissed as his own orgasm transfixed him, a long trembling release that spilled hot over Aziraphale’s glossy thighs.

“Oh my goodness,” Aziraphale said at last, wiping his eyes. “Pardon me, my dear, but your teeth...”

“Gnah,” Crowley said, withdrawing his fangs and working his jaw back and forth. Aziraphale stretched, luxuriating in the decadent feel of the oil on his skin. There was something about the extra slickness of Crowley’s spend between his thighs, and the ache in his neck, that felt deliciously excessive: the sort of indulgence he wasn’t supposed to want, and didn’t exactly deserve, but found himself enjoying anyway. Crowley’s unabashed lust for him was a little like that too. Far too much, which turned out to be just right -- at least until he came over all self-conscious about it.

“Sorry about not finishing the thing, y’know, I just couldn’t take it anymore.” He plucked ineffectually at the rope, making a little _mneh_ noise; Aziraphale tutted and snapped his fingers, clearing the mess and coiling the rope in a neat bundle on the bedside table.

“You don’t sound very sorry,” Aziraphale said. “If anything, I’d say you’re rather pleased with yourself.”

“And why not? I get to do that now.” Crowley nuzzled his back right where the wing joint would be, sending that strange tingle down his spine. “I can just… want what I want. All that time pretending I didn’t. You know how that was.”

“I do.” Aziraphale reached half-heartedly for the quilt, feeling a little too sensitive about his own pretenses to continue that line of conversation just now, and Crowley pulled it up over both of them. “Thank you, love. Perhaps next time we’ll try something simpler? Why, you might be able to tie my hands and feet in the same session.”

“Ah, wicked creature, does your depravity know no bounds?” Crowley swooned magnificently, and Aziraphale giggled into the pillow. “But yes, absolutely, assuming I can hold it together long enough.”

“You’ll just have to practice restraint,” Aziraphale said, to which the only response was an extremely indignant silence.

\---

### Footnotes

1. These predictably found themselves outside on the stoop with a strong feeling that they should not reenter and a detailed, unsparing insight into their own sexual shortcomings.↩

**Author's Note:**

> Title from The Go-Gos, [“Fun With Ropes."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=euEkAtzkVI8)
> 
> Betaed with loving skill by [Laura Shapiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/), and cheered on by my reptile wrangler [voidbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidbat).
> 
> And thank you to [thedeadparrot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedeadparrot/), whose excellent [O Blessed Bonds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22172983) comes with a **footnote formatter** at the end!!! Go read that story, I owe them my life.
> 
> I'm on tumblr at cumaeansibyl, come say hi!


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